Happy Birthday? Hardly
by DreamerChick
Summary: .."I don't know when I stopped caring." Roger said, and Mark knew that was his cue to be ready to respond. "I mean...how? I mean, I know like at 40 or something people stop caring, but I'm only 27.Has my life really gotten so worthless, so...short?"


TITLE: Happy Birthday? Hardly

RATING:PG-13

TIME PERIOD: I'm thinking about 4 years after RENT. If i did it my math right. ( I make no claims to be good at math)

PAIRING: Mark & Roger FRIENDSHIP

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Eternally grateful to Jonathan Larson for creating them. Just gotta borrow them and play with them some.

A/N: A: though I don't come right out and give the date, assume it's fall, sometime after Halloween, because Roger seems to have a very intense Scorpio personality, so yeah.  
B: I was digging through my LJ one day and this was there- I wrote this about a year ago, maybe a little more. And it's not in need of too much polishing though I did give it a once over and a good spell check.

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"Rog, it's almost your birthday." Mark said, looking at the calender.

"Oh...thanks for reminding me." Roger barely looked up from the notebook.

"Big 2-8...wait, you didn't even know?" Mark stopped staring at the calender, and went to sit beside his best friend on the couch.

"Didn't care." Roger murmured. He really hoped Mark would drop it.

Birthday's meant nothing to him.

At least, not now.

As a kid they meant a break from the fighting, a day when his father would at least _pretend_ to care, and his mother would take off that day from the restaurant. If it was a school day, there were cupcakes at lunch, and Roger would be pulled out after recess, and they went home and made the cake together, just him and his mother. And the few presents that could be afforded. And dinner together. And for one day, they were a normal family.

As a teenager, it was a day he skipped his last 3 periods after lunch, and went with his buddies, which included Mark, who would jump at every sound, to a nearby park, toward the back, where only the serious hikers and adventurous went, to get drunk and high, and binge on Twinkies and Cheetos, and talk about all the stupid shit that teenage boys talk about

Once he picked up "La Vie Boheme" with Mark, it was a day to scrounge together subway fair, and go into the heart of the city. The part the tourist saw when they came. A day to window shop and fantasize, with Mark and Collins, and sometimes Maureen, though she made it hard to have fun and be 'guys', about what they'd do and buy if they ever made it big. Then, as a birthday present to Roger, Mark and Collins would buy pizza for them all, and occasionally,if it had been a good year, some ice cream or something sweet from a vendor. Then bumming around Central Park, until well after the sun went down, then back to Time Square, to gawk with the tourists at the spectacle of it. Finally, exhausted, if they had any money left over, it was hit a subway back home, or what normally happened, walk back.

The birthday he was with April, was spent shooting up and fucking. And shooting up again.

The birthday after finding her dead at her own hands, was spend in the worst of the withdrawal.

The birthday after that, wandering around Santa Fe, trying to find himself, and his "Glory".

He spent the birthday after that wandering around the grave yard, mourning the loss of Mimi, who had died five days, and three hours after her miraculous experience on Christmas eve.

The birthday after that, was spent burying Collins, who'd caught a cold while teaching a first year only class. That developed into Pneumonia and he'd died shortly after that.

This birthday, Roger realized, might well be his last.

Roger wasn't much for this world. He'd been down for about three days with a vicious cold that Mark had feared would turn worse. It hadn't but he hadn't fully recovered, and it didn't seem like he would.

"How can you not care about you're birthday" Mark wasn't going to let it die.

"Just don't." Roger tried to curl up into a tighter ball, but could only get so far before the notebook would get in the way."Please, Mark, let it die." It was the most sincere Mark had heard Roger in a long time, and the most...not pathetic, but certainly weak.

The two sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Mark didn't know what to say, and Roger never said much.

"Look, Mark, thanks for reminding me. Truly. It's nice to know someone still cares about me." Roger finally broke the silence.

Mark knew what he was talking about. Though occasionally they still heard from Maureen,since Joanne had left for good, sick of dancing Maureen's dance, the drama queen had more or less disappeared. She hadn't even shown at Collin's funeral.

"How can I not, you're my brother." Mark stated simply.

Silence again. This time, more comfortable, though still begging to be broken.

Mark tried again. "If you're feeling up to it, do you wanna go bum around parts of the city we can afford nothing in?"

"Maybe. I truly don't want to do anything...it's probably gonna be cold,and..." Roger trailed off. Though he'd for the most part accepted his mortality,saying it aloud made it a solid reality

For both of them.

Mark shifted his weight uncomfortably, before getting up and pacing. "Have you taken your AZT yet?"

"Yep." Roger was getting ready to go back into 'don't speak to me' mode, and the filmmaker knew it, and opened his mouth, trying to prevent that door from shutting.

He couldn't find anything.

Deciding that perhaps silence was best, he started to dig through the kitchen, trying to find a teabag, some coffee grounds,better yet instant coffee, a fucking Swiss Miss-or rather generic store brand hot chocolate- packet, anything to distract himself with.  
He managed to find two packets of an herbal tea, and set the kettle on the hot plate. He sat on the window ledge,and let his thoughts wander, as he waited for the water to boil.

It did, and he got up and made a cup of tea for himself, and one for Roger.  
He sat one down beside the songwriter, who actually seemed to have a train of thought going.

The filmmaker nearly dropped his own tea when Roger spoke up. "I used to care."

"Huh?"

"About my birthday. As a kid, I loved it. Not for the presents, fuck no, I really was lucky if I got much. But for the fact that my father actually told me he loved me on my birthday." Roger was talking to the air as much as he was talking to Mark, who sat on the ground,leaning against couch,sipping his tea,waiting for the other to finish.

"I used to get up really early on my birthday if it was a school day. I'd help my mom decorate the cupcakes- 26 of them- 25 kids, plus the teacher. They were kind of thin, because we couldn't quite afford enough for all the cupcakes _and _my birthday cake, so we kind of watered down the yellow cake ones, 'cause not as many kids ate those. Everybody wanted chocolate."

Roger stopped as a coughing fit over came him. Mark couldn't look up. He hated to see the pained look in Roger's eyes. Well, pain mixed with acceptance of how near his end was. He waited it out, and then Roger continued, like nothing had happened.

"We'd go in a little before school started. My teacher would take the cupcakes, put them behind her desk,feed me some bullshit about how 'thoughtful' I was- please it was a cupcake in the middle of the week-and she- i never had a male teacher until quite possibly the sixth grade- would chat with my mom, and they'd agree that my mom could take me out after recess.

At lunch, my teacher would bring out the cupcakes, and everyone would line up to get one. Then at recess, or after more like it, my mom would come and we'd stop by her work-she was a waitress at this really hip place, and she'd chit chat with this guy, try to get some free food, or get her tip share if it was Tuesday. I'd hang out with one of the hostesses- this one really loved me, well she loved kids. She'd listen to me talk about nothing. Then, we'd go home, and mom would let me help her make the cake, and I got to lick the spoon." Roger's eyes got misty, though he'd never admit it if asked.

"I don't know when I stopped caring." Roger said, and Mark knew that was his cue to be ready to respond. "I mean...how? I mean, I know like at 40 or something people stop caring, but I'm only 27. Has my life really gotten so worthless, so...short?" The last word was a whisper.

"Hey, look, Rog man, it's not that bad. You're life is anything but worthless. And it's not over yet." As Mark finished that statement, another fit overcame the rocker. When it passed, Mark had never seen Roger look so lost since Mimi had died.

"See?" Roger said bitterly.

Mark did see. He had seen. He just didn't want to admit it yet. When Roger went, Mark would be completely alone.

"Look, I'm gonna get some sleep." Roger whispered, placing his notebook on the ground, and folding up his jacket into a pillow.

Without being asked, Mark grabbed the comforter off his bed, and a pillow, and proceeded to cover his half asleep best friend, who reached for the pillow, murmuring a "Thanks,Mark".

Mark waited until he heard Roger snoring softly, and quietly exited via the fire escape. He had to get out of there, just walk. Find some way, any way, at all, to make Roger's birthday special

_His last birthday_ a voice inside him screamed at him.

He shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of that thought. All he accomplished was getting a few stares from a passer by or two.

He made it to a CVS. He patted his pockets. He had a ten dollar bill. He couldn't remember what from. He didn't care.

The store clerks gave him odd looks, as he wandered around, more or less talking to himself. Arguing more like it. Telling himself that this was not it, not Roger's last birthday. But he knew better. Those two fits earlier weren't the first. Not by a long shot. And they wouldn't be the last.

He stopped at the card aisle, waiting for a thin older woman to find what she was looking for. She did so,in a hurry, as the blue eyes staring at her back had to have made her uncomfortable. She walked a way mumbling, and he was sure he heard quite clearly "Impatient brat".

He wanted to scream "You'd be impatient too if in a week was the man you consider you're brother's birthday and you knew it could be his last." But he didn't. Instead, he started staring at the cards. Trying to find the right one.

_How do you buy a card for someone's last birthday?_ was the thought that haunted him as he looked. He picked up every card, at least twice. Shaking his head, he took a round-a-bout way to find notebook paper. If Hallmark couldn't say it, he'd have to figure out a way to do so by himself.

A pack of college-ruled paper and a two pack of those really nice pens cost him 2.79. Mark smiled at the few bucks in his hand. Now he knew what to do for Roger's birthday. It wouldn't be much, but it would do the job.

Walking back to the loft, he detoured toward the Food Emporium. He was hoping he could buy what he needed for 7.21. Cause if he couldn't he really didn't know what he'd do.

_Maybe I'll beg at the back door of The Life?_ He thought sarcastically.

He quickly found what he was looking for and something was working for him and it was on sale, causing him to do a little jig in the aisle, not giving a damn about who saw him.

He ran the rest of the way to the loft, climbing up the fire escape, no easy task with his various bags,but the best way to get in without waking Roger.

He carefully opened the window, and from where he stood on the ledge, he could see Roger's chest rising and falling gently. He quickly ran and hid his purchases in various points of the kitchen, then returned to the metal table, where he proceeded to play Solitaire, grinning at his plan.

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_One Week Later_

"Roger, wake up." Mark said simply, shaking the songwriter gently.

"Hmm?"

"Wake up, I need you're help with something in the kitchen." Mark was sounding too damn perky for the hour.

"What is it?" Roger muttered, as he got out of bed, shivering as his bare feet hit the cold floor. He followed the way too eager filmmaker to the kitchen, and actually smiled when he saw what was set up. A box of chocolate cake mix and all the things necessary to make it. "Mark...thank you."

"No problem. And if you are a good boy, you can lick the spoon." Mark answered, getting a laugh from Roger, which was broken by a brief coughing fit, breaking the mood somewhat.

Shaking it off like he had so many others, Roger looked at the box, and in his most 'down to business' tone said, "Let's bake this bastard."

The next hour total was spent with the two boys making a mess as well as the cake. When it was finally cool, they set about icing it.

"Birthday boy gets the first piece" Mark said,when all was done, grabbing a knife and cutting a slice, which Roger took and didn't bother putting on a plate.

"Not bad" Roger managed to get out from a mouthful of crumbs. He swallowed. "Thanks. For everything."

"Not done yet." Mark said, bashfully, grabbing a thick pile of notebook paper. "I couldn't find a card that said all I wanted to say, so I did this."

Roger sat down, and began to read the note. His eyes misted over as he read it. He read it twice, before enveloping the filmmaker in a hug.

"I couldn't have chosen a better brother either. Nobody else would have gone to such lengths, to make this day special for me anymore." Roger whispered, finding it hard to talk without choking up.

A silence settled over the loft again, a comfortable one, as both boys sat side by side on the old couch, enjoying each other's company.

Maybe Roger could try to care about his birthday again. After all, the man he considered his brother had gone and spent his last ten dollars on it. The least he could do was care.

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_One year later _

Mark looked at the calender. _Roger's Birthday_ was marked, clearly, in red ink, though most things pertaining to the songwriter had been scratched out long ago, as a way to forget.

Mark stood up, stretched,wrapped the well worn scarf around his neck, and exited the loft, heading down an all too familiar path. His feet seemed to go into autopilot.

As he wandered down the street, he tried to forget where he was going. Think about anything else.

When he reached his destination, he paused a moment, placing a hand on the cold stone, and whispered softly, "Happy Birthday,Roger."

There was no answer.


End file.
